


Twice Shy

by demon_kat



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3314240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demon_kat/pseuds/demon_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy doesn't have the best track record with relationships. Can she overcome her own fears?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twice Shy

Peggy sighed tiredly as she headed up the stairs to her room at the Griffith. The last week had been, to say the least, hectic. The agents at the SSR were closing in on her many deceptions. Meanwhile Howard, who was currently "slumming" in an East Side apartment under a fake identity, had sent Peggy on a series of wild chases in order to track down a particularly irritating device of his - one that could sonically subdue over a city block's worth of citizens when activated. Keeping her co-workers from guessing her increasingly erratic whereabouts as well as hiding the lead-lined monstrosities Howard called earmuffs from anyone she came into contact with had been _trying_.

Her very new, very large, very heavy purse thumped against her thigh as she ascended to her floor. The earmuffs inside clacked quietly and Peggy found herself thinking about tossing them down the garbage chute. After all, the device was deactivated and in Mr. Jarvis' care. It _should_ be fine to be rid of the things. But then, "should" was a word that rarely applied in her line of work. Best to keep them. Under the bed, perhaps, though that space was quickly becoming rather crowded.

A loud thump brought her out of her rumination as she passed Angie's apartment. The door was open, though only marginally, and the sounds of the radio drifted into the hall along with Angie's muffled voice. Peggy assumed she was cursing. It was a vice Angie often indulged when she thought Miriam wasn't nearby.

She paused, knocking lightly on the door frame. "Angie, darling? Is everything alright?"

Another thump, followed by a door closing (the closet, Peggy assumed), and then, "Sure thing, English. Just a little spring cleanin'." Angie pulled the door further open and grinned at her. "Where you comin' from? You look like you could use a drink."

"Work, of course, and that sounds lovely," Peggy sighed. "I don't suppose that was an invitation?"

"Yeah, as long as you don't mind helpin' me clean!" The look on Angie's face was, Peggy thought, strangely triumphant.

"Oh, I see, this was all a ruse to get me to do your housework for you." Peggy rolled her eyes, but she was fighting a smile. "I suppose I might be convinced to help you if you hate it that much and can offer me the right reward."

"I think I can come up with somethin'," Angie seemed to leer. Peggy worked hard not to show her interest in the possibility that she was, in fact, leering. "Why don't you go put that rucksack you call a purse down and get into something less irritatin', and I'll pour us a couple a glasses."

Peggy nodded stiffly at that and turned around, disappointment swirling in her belly. She really has no idea why she allows herself to entertain thoughts like this about Angie. If the war had taught her anything, it was that intolerance of anything outside of "normal" was powerful enough to drive men to kill each other. And being attracted to another woman was certainly outside of normal. What were the odds that the other woman felt the same way?

Entering her room and throwing the purse on the floor, she shook her head. At least with Steve she could tell. The man had been an open book, really. It had been one of his more charming personality traits. Her eyes fluttered shut as she worked hard to tamp down on her emotions. She would _not_ cry over him again. Not now. Not today. It had already been an unpleasant week, and she did not cherish the thought of finding herself sobbing to Angie about the boy she'd lost in the war.

Quickly, roughly, she changed into something more comfortable. It wasn't quite dark enough outside to warrant pajamas, and if Miriam caught her in trousers she was certain she'd be asked to leave the Griffith. (That woman was unbelievable, really!) Thankfully, she kept a few more comfortable skirts and blouses around for occasions like this. They weren't stylish, but they suited cleaning. Assessing herself in her mirror, she smoothed down the front of her skirt. It would do.

Angie had left her door open, but had turned down the radio. Peggy stepped inside and cleared her throat. Angie looked up from the suitcase she was in. "Shut the door, Peg." She did so, gently, as Angie continued, "Don't need Dottie pokin' in and gettin' all weird about the Scotch."

"Scotch?" Peggy was surprised. Normally Angie preferred softer drinks. Or perhaps "cheaper" was a better word for them. "That's rather a bit fancy for housework, isn't it?"

Angie shrugged and tossed a polka dotted dress into a medium-sized pile off to her side. "Looked like ya needed it. And I _hate_ cleanin'. Practically gives me hives." She winked on the last word and Peggy's gut clenched.

"Yes, of course. You do often seem to be suffering unusual levels of discomfort and itch when you're wiping down the counters at the diner." Peggy had been walking closer to Angie, but she stopped at the girl's small table and picked up one of the tumblers that had been filled with alcohol. Lifting it to her nose she inhaled. The earthy, smokey aroma of the Scotch was heavenly. Angie had _taste_. "My word, Ms. Martinelli, you do have your surprises."

"Should hope so!" Angie snorts. "Otherwise ya wouldn't be in here, would ya?"

Peggy stared at her, glass raised to her lips and her eyes wide like saucers. Angie didn't notice. She was too busy pulling out what looked like a piece of- Suddenly, Peggy whirled around and knocked back the Scotch in one fell swoop. Angie Martinelli had a set of very black, very expensive, very _revealing_ lingerie. With garter belts, dear **lord**.

Angie's laughter sounded from behind her. Peggy gasped and wished she had more Scotch. She wondered if Angie would mind terribly if she drank her glass as well.

"Jesus, would ya look at this?" No, Peggy thought, she won't. Not again. Not yet. She couldn't quite stop thinking about it, actually, and looking again would only make it worse. "I forgot I had this!"

"R-," Peggy started. The words caught in her throat and she tried again. "Really? I should think one wouldn't forget about something that... Provocative."

"You okay, Peg? Don't tell me you're a prude."

Peggy could hear the mocking in Angie's tone and ground her teeth. She turned around bravely and set the glass of Scotch on the table, her face a perfect mask of pleasantry. "Of course not, darling. It just caught me off guard. Really, they're quite lovely."

"Yeah, I'll say. To bad the guy I stole 'em from turned out to be a jerk." Angie let the garment fall into her lap as she looked at it. She looks to the pile of clothes to the side. "I ain't exactly had an opportunity to put this on since I swiped it. Guess I should toss it."

"Who did you, ah, swipe it from, exactly?" Peggy asked gingerly as she slipped into the chair nearest to her, her chin on her hands to keep them from shaking.

"No way you'd believe me if I told ya." Angie grinned again as she shook her head. Peggy though she was being self-deprecating, but couldn't fathom why.

"Try me."

Angie sighs, squares her shoulders, and pierces Peggy with a glare. "Howard Stark."

Peggy was quite sure the world had fallen away from her. "Howard Stark?" She said, faintly. Her ears were ringing and she felt hot. " **The** Howard Stark?"

"Yeah, the guy that turned out to be the biggest traitor of the war - that Howard Stark." Angie said quickly. And then, "Hey, are you okay? Did you drink that Scotch too fast, or somethin'?"

Peggy waved her off and covered her face. “No, no,” she said through her hands. “I've just had quite the day is all.”

When Peggy looked up from her hands Angie was _right there_ , hovering over her with concern. At least she wasn't still holding that damned audacious raiment anymore. Peggy could try to pretend she hadn't seen it.

“You know, Peggy, you have a lot of days like this.” Angie laid her hand on Peggy's shoulder gently. Peggy didn't like how it burned through her shirt. “Maybe ya outta find another job. Gal like you doesn't have ta work phone lines, ya know?”

Peggy smiled. Genuinely, she did. It was hard not to appreciate Angie's honesty and kindness, when Peggy's whole world revolved around the opposites of those things. She patted Angie's hand with one of her own, “Thank you. I do appreciate your concern.”

Angie snorted and moved back to her suitcase. “Jeeze, if that ain't a 'thanks but no thanks, and there's the door,' I ain't never heard one.”

“No, Angie, honestly it's not like that,” Peggy's voice sounded anxious to her own ears. “Really, I-”

Peggy was cut off abruptly by an insistent knocking on the door. Angie huffed and moved towards it, “Who's it?”

“Mrs. Fry.” The older lady paused as Peggy scooped up the bottle of Scotch and the two glasses and stowed them in their cabinet. She was walking toward the lingerie as Mariam continued, “Is Miss Carter in there, Miss Martinelli? She's got a...” The woman paused again and Peggy finished shoving the underthings beneath the pile of clothes with her foot, because she certainly didn't think she could handle _touching_ them. “Visitor. He's very insistent that he sees her.”  
  
Angie was facing her when she turned toward the door. The waitress cocked an eyebrow. Peggy nodded brusquely. When Angie opened the door, Peggy stepped forward around Mrs. Fry. “Thank you so much, Mariam, for coming to get me. Who is it that's waiting in the lobby?”

Peggy whisked Mariam away from Angie and her garter belts, but didn't quite manage to stop thinking about them until she saw Jarvis standing awkwardly in the middle of the lobby. Mrs. Fry huffed back behind her counter and Jarvis fidgeted under her gaze a moment before saying, “Please forgive the forwardness, Miss Carter, but I'm afraid our friend _Holly_ ,” He almost choked on the word. Peggy had to work very hard not to roll her eyes. “Is in a bit of distress and could use your advice. _She_ asked me to come and get you, straight away.”

“Yes of course, Mr. Jarvis,” Peggy smiled beatifically. “Just let me run back upstairs to retrieve my things.”

Jarvis seemed ready to protest, but Peggy didn't give him an option. Leaving without her things would have made Mrs. Fry immediately suspicious, and Peggy _hated_ going anywhere without her gun if she didn't have to. Angie's door was closed as she passed it, and the music was up louder than it was previously. Peggy frowned, but didn't stop. **Holly** was in trouble, after all.

It seemed as though it took only moments to get to Howard's hide-away. Peggy was sure it didn't, but she had spent the entire time imagining ways to disembowel Howard. Surprisingly, she could think of a great many. In detail. She was working very hard not to show her feelings when she marched into his room, Jarvis on her heels.

“Peggy, thank God!” Howard said, his voice muffled. There was a large black bruise forming across the bridge of his nose.

Peggy's eyebrow went up of its own accord. “What did you do, Howard?” He started to answer her, his mouth opening, but before he could say anything she said, “Actually, no. I don't really care. Is this why you sent Jarvis for me? To fetch you an ice pack?”

Howard had the grace to look ashamed. “It hurts, Peg, and he's a little too...” Howard trailed off. “Look, I wanted to ask you to go check on the _girl_ , okay? Her husband was pretty mad.”

“I'm sure I have no idea why,” Peggy muttered, unimpressed. _Of course_ he'd slept with a married woman. _Again_. Still, she had to admit Howard's heart was in the right place in wanting to check on her. “And I suppose Mr. Jarvis checking on her would have been too antagonizing?”

Howard nodded quickly, seemingly pleased that she understood. Jarvis only shuffled uncomfortably and cleared his throat. Howard stopped nodding then, and said, “They're in room 23B. Her name's Lisa.”

He said the name with a dreamy protraction. Peggy _did_ roll her eyes that time. “Very well. When I get back, however, we are going to have _words_.” She didn't tell him it wasn't going to be about Lisa.

Apartment 23B was two flights down. As she neared it, she heard crying. When she got to the door, she heard the muffled sounds of a fist impacting something soft. Peggy thought it was probably unfortunate for the goon that she was so angry. Then again, he did seem to have it coming.

She dropped her purse and kicked the door down easily. Shoddy workmanship, she thought, as she barreled into the stunned blonde galumph that was hulking over the weeping woman – Lisa – in the middle of the room. As Peggy swept his legs from under him, she thought he looked rather like Agent Thompson. She grinned viciously and raised her right leg to bring it back down on him, roughly.

He was too quick for her, though, and rolled out of the way. She'd underestimated him; she wouldn't do it again. As she recovered he grabbed at her. His meaty arms gleamed with sweat and were pink with rage. She raised her elbow and knocked it into his upper right arm while pulling down on his left, pulling him into her. He went down over her knees and she flipped him onto his back quickly.

Before he could move again, she dropped (carefully, so as not to kill him – that was hardly necessary) with her knee on his carotid artery. He pushed at her but she batted his arms away, if not easily, then close to it. He didn't seem to consider kicking his legs to buck her off, which Peggy had counted on. Whomever he was, he wasn't used to fighting someone skilled.

When he went, he flopped limply against the floor like a sack of flour. The girl had crawled away and was staring at her, tear streaked face wide and open. Peggy straightened herself and said calmly, “It's all right. I'm here to help you.”

Ultimately, she called Jarvis to help Lisa pack a bag and get out of town. The butler was far more adept at dealing with Howard's messes than Peggy was, after all. They left James – the unfortunate galumph – tied up in the bathroom. Peggy had Howard leave an anonymous tip about the bastard later, when it was sure Lisa was well on her way to her sister's place in Colorado. Courtesy of Mr. Stark, of course.

She walked calmly back into Howard's room forty minutes later and sat her purse on the side table before turning to Jarvis. “Mr. Jarvis, would you be so kind as to give Howard and I a few moments alone?”

Jarvis looked both surprised and concerned. He nodded quietly and ushered himself out of the room without so much as a glance to Howard, who was glaring sullenly at Peggy from his bed and holding a bag of Bird's Eye frozen peas against his face. “You really gonna yell at me for sleeping with a married girl, Peg? 'Cause I gotta say, that's not like you.”

Peggy shook her head tightly. “I don't often care what you do in your private time, Howard. That said, it became apparent to me today that you could use a lecture on how to treat the ladies you spend time with.”  
  
“What are you-?”

She cut him off. “It seems you've slept with someone close to me, and she found the incident distasteful enough to call you a 'jerk' and steal the getup you'd forced her into.”

Howard's eyes crinkled thoughtfully as she spoke, but Peggy didn't notice. She was too busy gearing up for her lecture. She wasn't sure exactly why she was giving it to him. Some part of her understood that she was jealous and angry, more than judgmental of Howard's acts. He'd never pressed a girl beyond the word no, as far as Peggy'd heard, and the women he slept with always seem satisfied. Yet, she couldn't stop herself. Angie, clearly, _wasn't_ satisfied. And that appeared to be quite enough to get her angry.

“Your women are just as much a part of the _relations_ you engage in as you are, Howard. They deserve your respect! You can't just-” She was cut off just as she started to raise her voice.

“Hold on, Peg!” Howard stood up then, peas in his hand. “You talking about a brunette girl, about yea tall?” He held his empty hand to approximate Angie's height. “Talks like she's from Rosebank?”

Peggy found her words dying. Howard remembered Angie? That was, well, _unexpected._ After a moment she managed a strangled, “Ah, yes, actually.”

He gave a huffing kind of laugh and shifted on his feet. “Yeah, I don't know what she told you, but it ain't what happened.”

Peggy's eyes narrowed. “Really.” It wasn't a question.

“Yeah, really,” he stressed the word a little, knowing she didn't believe him. “See, despite what you may think of me, Peg, I actually do respect women. I just happen to like 'em a lot, too. Turns out, so does your _friend._ ” Howard stressed that word more than the other, and tilted his head at her like he'd gotten her where he wanted her. “She didn't figure out she wasn't all that into me until we'd gotten too far into it, and I was drunk.” He shrugged and frowned. “Maybe I didn't handle it real well when she whispered a gal's name while we were, ah-” He coughed and waved his hand in the air.

Peggy got the picture. She felt herself flush, though whether from jealousy or embarrassment she wasn't sure.

“Anyway, there was some yelling and she ran out on me. In the _getup_ you mentioned.”

They stood there, staring at each other for several minutes. Finally, Howard put the peas back against his face and sat back down on the bed. Peggy looked down. “How did you know it was her? Surely you've had other girls run off with undergarments before.”

Howard chuckled. “You're staying at the Griffith, Peg. I know _all_ the girls at the Griffith. Only one of 'em ever ran out on me, _ever_.” The way he said it made Peggy feel dirty. She really didn't want to know anything about his sex life. Or, rather, anything more than she already did.

“I see.” Peggy said after a moment.

Howard leaned back, his face neutral. “You like her, right?”

“Of course, she's my friend.” Peggy worked very hard to put her walls up as quickly as she could. Howard was like a tank when he wanted to be, and she wasn't actually prepared for him to be interrogating **her**.

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugged. “Like that telephone operator in France, right? The WAAC girl? The one from Ohio with the great gams?”

Peggy sighed. Her legs **had** been _tremendously_ long. “Doreen,” she whispered. Then, louder, “You knew?”

“Jesus, Peg, of course I knew! I know what those looks mean – I see 'em all the time!” Howard's hands were dancing animatedly. Peggy wondered if he was going to clock himself with the peas. (She rather hoped he did.) “Hell, I _give_ 'em all the time.”

She looked away, ashamed. It had been during the time she'd thought Steve was like all the other men in the war. She felt guilty about it only because she'd not really been committed to Doreen. It was out of character for her to enjoy liaisons like that.

“I don't care,” Howard said, suddenly. “I mean, hey, I like gals, too, right?” His grin was earnest, but irritating. A bit like Howard himself, if she thought about it. “And anyway, what you do behind closed doors ain't my concern.”

Peggy nodded. “No, it isn't. Nor,” she said, grimacing. “Is what you do behind your doors, mine. I'm sorry, Howard.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You kidding? You keep saving my butt, Peg, you feel free to lecture me all you want.” He got a wistful look on his face, then. “Kinda reminds me of when Rogers did it.”

Jarvis returned a few moments later and took Peggy back to the Griffith. She spent the ride, this time, working out what she wanted to do with the information Howard had given her. It was almost too overwhelming to deal with. Peggy had, after all, gotten very good at accepting her continuous state of loneliness over the last year.

She made it back to her room shortly before curfew. Angie's door was still shut, but the music was off. She'd spent a good five minutes staring at the waitress' room before deciding to deal with it tomorrow. She was tired and sore all over from her week. One more day wouldn't make much of a difference to her heart, would it?

It would, it seemed.

She'd cleaned herself up, had some tea and a few of the rolls Angie had made her keep from dinner last night, and laid down for bed. Then her mind had started working, and her lungs had started to feel tight, and her heart had begun to beat far too hard and far too fast. She couldn't stop thinking about Angela Martinelli. About Angela Martinelli in black lingerie. About Angela Martinelli _winking_ at her. Smiling at her. Inviting her out. Talking to her. Getting to know her.

The realization hit her like an exploding land mine: Margaret Carter was in love.

She covered her mouth with her hand to suppress the sudden sobs. She simply could not go through this again, not with her job, not with her history, not with her luck. It was too much, too soon. She had barely gotten over Steve – if she even **had** gotten over him, which she wasn't actually certain of. And was it even possible to love two people at once?

Steve would know.

The thought made her cry harder.

At some point, she fell asleep. Her dreams were tumultuous and draining. She could see Steve in them, in the distance, waiting for her against a whiteness. She could never get to him, though she tried. And in the end she turned to find Angie staring at her with a piece of pie on a plate in her right hand and the other hand resting on her hip. Her face was irritated and she was scowling.

Peggy woke before she could find out what was wrong.

Morning had not quite broken but the noises of the city had already begun. Laying in her bed, Peggy found herself already weary from a day she hadn't yet lived. The thought of dealing with Dooley or Thompson, or heaven forbid even _Sousa,_ was practically debilitating. And yet, as Angie liked to say, “The show must go on!”

She left the Griffith before breakfast. Miriam Fry's unhappy gaze followed her out, but she waved the woman off with lies about a morning meeting at the workplace. As it was, Peggy planned simply to have tea and finish filing some papers she'd allowed to pile up on her desk. They weren't hers, of course, but they did still need filing. Certainly none of the men were going to bother.

The task wasn't distracting enough, though. She found her mind lingering on her dreams. The meaning was clearly obvious, even to her, but she felt it wasn't true. Or fair. Fair to whom, though, she wasn't sure. Steve, or herself?

“Carter!” Sousa's loud intrusion to her musings caused her to snap her head to attention. “You okay over there? You seem kind of distracted.”

“Oh, yes,” Peggy said, shaking her head. “I haven't had a terribly good week, I'm afraid. Thank you for asking, Agent Sousa. I'll be sure to be more focused the rest of the day.”

“Whoa, hey!” He said, spinning in his chair to face her fully, instead of just craning his neck at her. “That's not what I meant! I was just concerned. I mean, you wanna talk about it?”

His face is open and caring, and he did remind her of Steve when he got that way. Yet he didn't push the way Steve did against the unending assault of _wrongness_ in their lives, and seemed content to simply speak against it rather than act. Perhaps that was unfair of her, but her time at the SSR had not taught her to love any of the men she worked with. Not even Sousa. After all, none of them viewed her as a true equal. Even the man with the crutch.

“That won't be necessary, Agent Sousa.” She said curtly. She finished sorting the stack of files she was working on and stood. “If Dooley asks, I'll be filing paperwork.”

The look on her face must have told him not to speak again, as he simply nodded as she walked passed. She guessed that this look, whatever it was, that she wore about her the rest of the day was what kept the men at bay. It meant that her day was largely unimpeded by their proddings, and she left for home at the end of her shift without incident. She was pleased that she had the weekend off and would be away from them entirely for a few days (hopefully without even Jarvis or Howard, or Howard's damnable contraptions, bothering her).

Once she was no longer working, Peggy found her thoughts drifting again to Steve. His face was growing more indistinct in her mind every day, and she knew his voice was starting to be replaced by the actor's from that deplorable radio drama. She feared that soon she wouldn't be able to tell the difference between her Steve and the propaganda-fueled counterfeit from the _Captain America Adventure Hour_. It made her feel weepy and foolish, dwelling on it in public as she walked towards the diner.

Suddenly, it registered that she was, in fact, walking towards the diner. Towards Angie. She stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, nearly getting run over by foot traffic. She ducked off to the side, leaning against the brick of a building, ignoring the glares and curses directed her way. What, exactly, was she going to do when she saw Angie?

A torrent of possibilities invaded her thoughts, most of them ending horribly - like those over-dramatic, over-edited, over-censured lesbian romance novels that line the racks in the back of the dime stores. Peggy particularly hated those, and she chided herself for falling into their fear tactics. Really, the worst that might happen was Peggy being ousted from the Griffith, and that was hardly the worst thing she could think of.

(She did suppose there was a possibility that Mrs. Fry might call her work and expose her secrets if she felt threatened enough by them, but even that wouldn't be the end of the world as far as Peggy was concerned.)

She bit her lip and wrung the handles of her purse as she considerd her options. In the end, Steve decided it for her. She could hear him in her head, urging her to _live._ And maybe she did still love him, and maybe she didn't, but she didn't think Steve would think less of her for loving someone else, too. Nor, she supposed, did she expect Angie to think less of her, either.

After all, she lost Steve before she even began with him. She wasn't sure she could survive another romance ending like that. (Even one that's all in her head.)

With that thought firmly in her mind she resumed her steps towards the L&L Automat. Now all she had to do is decide how to broach the subject with the waitress. Stepping forward and kissing her like it was VE Day didn't seem exactly discrete. And while Peggy was more than capable of being subtle at her job, she'd noticed she had a terrible time with it in relationships. Perhaps it was simply that deceptions at home become too much work when the heart was involved?

Not that she'd be able to tell Angie what she does for a living. That would be dangerous, as well as foolish. But she could be honest about her feelings, couldn't she? Her heels clacked on the concrete loudly as she neared the front of the diner. Yes, she though as she spied Angie in the window, she could.

She took her usual seat without saying anything, only nodding at Angie as the waitress looked up to see her coming in. Angie was busy with other customers and stopped by with a quick, “The usual?” Then vanished after she received Peggy's small nod of affirmation.

It wasn't the first time Peggy is struck by how delightful Angie looked in her work uniform. The war positively spoiled her for uniforms, she supposed. It wasn't something she felt terribly bad about. Nor did she feel terribly bad about watching Angie work. She bent over often enough to give Peggy a nosebleed, and it was positively wonderful. Peggy hadn't allowed herself this much freedom to ogle since, well, _ever._

Angie didn't seem to notice, which was probably a good thing. When her food was cooked, the American girl brought it to her and leaned on the counter with her hip. “You look a lot better today than you did yesterday afternoon, English. Kinda excited, maybe. What's up? You get a hot date?”

Peggy found herself struggling under the weight of her own anxiety. She sipped her tea to steady her nerves. “Well, something like that, actually. Perhaps you'd be willing to discuss it tonight, over some more drinks? My treat this time, of course.”

Angie cocked her head, curiosity in her eyes alongside something else. She took a minute to think it over then nodded. “Sure, soon as my shift ends.”

Peggy finished her meal without talking to Angie any further. The night was busy for the waitress, which Peggy was grateful for. Tips were, after all, how she earned a living. And, an added bonus, Angie didn't find herself at the receiving end of any untoward advances in all the time that Peggy was present.

It was nearly eight before Peggy entered the Griffith. She had a bounce to her step and a bottle of wine in her purse. Even Mrs. Fry's glaring couldn't keep the optimism from encompassing her as she prepared for the end of Angie's shift. Howard, she knew, was rarely wrong about women. Overly sure of himself, perhaps, but not wrong. Even when he'd been trying to seduce her she'd found him charming enough. She just hadn't wanted to become one of his conquests to the other soldiers around her.

Her room was not messy, but she found herself tidying anyway. Once she was satisfied, she changed into her pajamas and her dressing gown. She knew what she looks like in it, and was certain that if Angie _was_ interested, she'd appreciate the tableau. If not, at least Peggy would be ready for a good hard cry into her pillow that night.

It was almost curfew before Angie knocked on her door. Peggy let her in and wasn't disappointed with the sight. Angie was also wearing a dressing gown - in brown, which was setting off her green eyes quite well, indeed. With her hair brushed down a bit from it's usual style and the peekings of a set of dusty blue pajamas, she was practically a vision. Peggy swallowed hard and ushered her inside.

“Sorry I took so long, Peg,” Angie said, sweeping in and flopping into one of the chairs she'd set out for them. “Closin' was harder than usual 'cause one of my 'co-workers,'” she raised her hands to mimic quotation marks in the air at that. “Couldn't be bothered ta stick around and help tonight.”

“That's quite alright, Angie. I'm only sorry you had to work so late.” Peggy sat down across from her and picked up the wine bottle and opener, making a small show of pouring them both a glass.

Angie watched silently, her brows furrowed. Peggy wondered what she was thinking about. Angie grabbed her glass before she could ask, though, and held it out to clink. They did so, and sipped quietly from their glasses for a few minutes. Finally, Angie said, “So, ya got a date, or 'something like that,' huh?”

Peggy hummed and sat her glass down. She folded her hands together and looked directly at Angie. “I'm afraid, Angie, that I've been holding a few things back about myself. I'd like to clear that up now, if you don't mind.”

Angie seemed to freeze in place, her eyes widening just slightly. After a moment she uttered a quiet, “Okay.”

Peggy took a deep breath to calm her nerves and set her gaze off to the side, looking at the photos she had on her shelves. “You already know I'm from England.” Angie snorted softly and Peggy could imagine her rolling her eyes in a silent, 'Of course.' She continued, “What you may not realize is that I served in the war.”

At this, Angie took in a sharp breath. Peggy glanced at her and found a look of mild shock, and perhaps a little awe mixed with- Well, there would be time for that in a moment, perhaps. Peggy forged ahead, “It's actually why I dislike that horrible radio drama so much. You know the one?”

Angie smirked at her, “The one with Captain America? You hate that one? Gee, I never would'a guessed, Peg.” The sarcasm was almost palpable in the air between them. Peggy smiled at it.

“Well, I wonder if you've guessed why, precisely?” Angie's eyes narrowed and she shook her head slightly. “Betty Carver.”

Angie mouthed the word against the side of her wine glass. Moments passed and her eyes lit up with understanding, “ _You're_ Betty Carver?” She was stage whispering in shock. It was quite endearing, really. “ **The** Betty Carver? Captain America's girlfriend? And, no offense Peg, but **you** were a _nurse_?”

Peggy wasn't sure whether to be pleased or angry about the response. On the one hand, awe and respect; on the other, abject horror at the thought of her tending to the wounded. She decided to return to the topic later. “No, I wasn't a nurse. I was an officer in the SAS.” Peggy hadn't counted on the starstruck look **that** was going to earn her. She felt her heart thrumming in her chest. “I met Steve through my work with the US military in Europe. We... Became close.”

Angie took a big swig of her wine and sat the glass down before leaning back in her chair. She leveled a strange look at Peggy and said, “You were noodlin' with Captain America, Peggy. I'd say that's a little more than 'becomin'' close.'”

Peggy blushed furiously, “Oh, no, Angie, no. We never, ah- We didn't- That is, it never got that far, I'm afraid.”

Angie's eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Seriously? What, did he _smell_ or somethin'?”

Peggy couldn't help but start to laugh, then. And once she started it didn't stop. Her anxiety seemed to bleed away as she sat there, laughing at Angie Martinelli asking her if Steve _smelled_. It didn't take long before Angie was laughing, too, and then they were a couple of ridiculous girls laughing over wine. When they stopped, Peggy couldn't help but think it was the most perfect evening she'd had in a very long time.

“No,” she said finally. She allowed a small amount of longing and sadness to creep into her voice. “He didn't smell. He was just gone too soon.”

“Jeeze, Peg,” Angie leaned over and grabbed her hands in hers. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean-”

Peggy leaned over and kissed her, then. She hadn't expected to do it this way – hadn't planned on it in the slightest, actually – but there they were. For a moment, she was just resting her lips against Angie's and then, slowly, Angie started to push back. Peggy thought she might die.

They kissed slowly, neither one of them taking charge. Just when she was thinking about moving a little further, or at least moving closer, Angie pulled away and stared at her with big eyes.

“You sure this is what you want, Peggy Carter?” Angie said it very slowly, very deliberately and with a seriousness Peggy was positive she had never heard from Angie before. “'Cause just a second ago you were thinkin' about cryin' over Captain America, and near as I can see I ain't got nothin' in common with him.”

“Actually,” Peggy smiled. “I was just thinking that you're very much like him, indeed.” She leaned forward and planted a purposeful kiss on Angie's mouth before pulling away again. “You're kind, and honest, and open. And you have the most exquisite mouth.”

Angie looked ready to say something, but then seemed to change her mind. Instead, she dove for Peggy. After another several more heated moments of kissing Peggy pulled away to ask, “Darling, would it be too much to hope for that you kept the lingerie?”

Angie's grin was positively _wicked._


End file.
